Drowning

Twenty Four;

All night, all my mind could focus on was what happened in that changing room. In that dark, dreary changing room. And what would've happened, had Bella not called the security officers in. Had Bella not called Harry. Had Harry not showed up, with Luke. The thought ran continuous shivers down my spine, which made me feel pathetic. I hated giving people the power to control me. But I couldn't help it. Not in this case.

"Morning, baby," Harry coos, turning over in his bed to face me. I'd decided to stay at his last night. It felt safer, somehow.

"Morning," I say, not meaning to sound as miserable as I did.

"Did you sleep okay?" he asks softly, his voice thick with sleep. I could tell by the look on his face, that he knew his question was pointless.

"Yes," I lie, hoping that he'd think his question wasn't pointless after all, and that he'd done an excellent job in making me feel better.

"Don't lie to me, baby." he whispers, gently moving some hair from my face. I sighed into the comforting touch.

"I'm fine," I lie, again. "Honest."

"Will you be better than fine if I go and brew us some coffee?" Harry asks, giving me a small smile.

"Definitely," I say, trying my best to sound enthusiastic. "Can I shower whilst you do that?"

"Of course," he smiles.

Harry placed a lingering kiss to my forehead, before we both pulled ourselves up and out of his warm bed. My body felt as though it weighed a million pounds, and just finding the strength to get out of bed used all of my energy.

We quietly went our separate ways, after Harry brushed his teeth. I padded off into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. My eyes were puffy; as though it was I, and not Mike, who had been punched by not just Harry, but Luke, too.

After splashing some cold water over my face, I brushed my teeth and stared at myself some more. Not out of vanity, nor to even be inquisitive about each of my features and blemishes. I just couldn't bring myself to get into that shower. I couldn't bring myself to move from this very spot in the bathroom, hands on the sink, eyes on the mirror. Because as I stood here, hypnotised by blank space, I felt numb.

With the numbness, my eyes eventually felt closed. I wasn't sure if they were or not. All that I could see, think, hear, was the spine-chilling sentence; 'you'd like that, wouldn't you? You disgusting little whore'. It played over and over in my mind. Not necessarily in a bad way. Not in a good way, but it didn't feel like anything. It just was. I couldn't escape the words but they didn't weigh me down. They were clouding my mind from emotion and held no connection in my brain. They were words, I was observing, without thought.

I wasn't sure how long I'd been in here, over that sink. So, when the door clicked open and Harry's arms wrapped around me, I got quite a shock.

"Zahara," he sighs, holding me in his arms. I felt my mind click back into place, and the words that, just moments ago, felt empty and meaningless, suddenly hit me like a tonne of bricks and I remembered each and every moment of pain.

I began to cry, involuntarily. My tears were hot and angry and I felt sick to my stomach.

"Shh, baby. You're okay. You're safe. I'm here," Harry soothes, one of his large hands stroking my hair.

Words felt far off right now. It was as though my voice box had been hidden and I wasn't given the directions to find it.

"Let's get you back into bed, yeah?" Harry says. But of course, uselessly, I didn't respond.